


concentric circles

by mildlydiscouraging



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Libraries, M/M, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildlydiscouraging/pseuds/mildlydiscouraging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's times like these that Hermann finds himself checking and double-checking his list of reasons why he works at the library. It's also times like these that prove why nowhere on said list does it mention the people he works with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	concentric circles

**Author's Note:**

> title from "standard deviation" by danny schmidt, which is nowhere on the internet anywhere at all wtf. i heard it when he and his wife were the weather at the latest welcome to night vale show i went to and my brain was just like FEM N/H and various other screamings about science lesbians. i'll add a link if it ever gets put up, it's too good for words. i will probably end up writing a fic solely about that song tbh.
> 
> "someone left a comment card in the suggestions box that says 'the reference librarian is super cute' and now all of the reference librarians are arguing over who it’s for" from [this](http://moonfullofstars.tumblr.com/post/140652066293/)

It's times like these that Hermann finds himself checking and double-checking his list of reasons why he works at the library. It's also times like these that prove why nowhere on said list does it mention the people he works with.

"This is definitely for me."

Tendo, his feet up on the reference desk, hasn't shut up all morning, and Hermann has had to go through the list eight times to keep himself from knocking his brogue boots off the polished wood with his cane.

"I'm just saying," he continued, "if this note was meant for anyone, it was definitely me."

Every night whichever undergrad left in charge of the suggestions box dumps it in the top drawer of the desk and leaves it for whoever shows up first the next morning. Unfortunately for everyone, that "whoever" that morning been Tendo, and he was _still_ talking about it.

"I mean, 'the reference librarian is super cute', how could that _not_ be me?" Tendo waves the paper above his head, smug as all get out. As he does, Mako—in all her omnipresence—appears behind him and snatches the note out of his fingers.

"'The ref—', what is this?" She drops her bag on the floor and shrugs out of one coat sleeve. Everyone's favorite senior, Mako was a bit of a legend among the underclassmen who frequented the building, and it wasn't that uncommon to see people weak-kneed and wide-eyed around her.

Tendo seems to realize much the same thing as he groans and slumps over onto the desk, feet falling to the floor. "Mako," he groans, "of course."

"Of course _what_?" She asks as she removes the rest of her coat and starts straightening out the rest of the comments. Most of them are freshmen graffiti and uncouth suggestions of where to shove "it" after no one let them at the boxes of old tests, but she still checked every day. She was always able to dig out one or two helpful ones; it was part of her magic.

"Of course you're the one the note is for," Tendo replies. "You're the super cute reference librarian."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but why do you assume I am the only one it could be referring to?"

Tendo smirks and opens his mouth again but is stopped by her raised hand.

"I don't mean yourself, Tendo, please. How do you know it was not meant for Hermann?" She walks behind him and drops the note onto his lap. It was the first time he had actually seen it and the scrawling handwriting was as unfamiliar as it was sloppy.

"Oh man, I bet it actually _is_ Hermann," Tendo says, leaning over the desk to watch him read it. "You don't see all the swooning, but trust me, it happens. Why didn't I think of this earlier?"

Hermann tosses the note back onto the desk dismissively. "I highly doubt that,"

As Tendo scoffs and picks the paper back up in an attempt to identify the writer, Mako crosses the room and hangs up her coat in the back room. When she returns, it is with a knowing smile. "Don't underestimate yourself, Hermann. You haven't seen the look that boy who always sits in the science section gets when you're shelving books over there."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermann replies, knowing full well what she's talking about. Well, he knows who, not necessarily what. He comes in after lunch almost every day, claims the farthest table by the west bank of windows, and stays until right before they start announcing closing. Several times Hermann has caught him sleeping or even dancing dramatically to his headphones, but never what Mako seems to be implying.

"I'm pretty sure you do," Tendo adds, "but I'm staying out of this until I figure out who wrote me this note." He doesn't even flinch when Mako rolls her eyes at him and lightly slaps the back of his head, too focused on trying to read the indents of whatever was written on the previous page.

The ridiculously antiquated grandfather clock by the door strikes eight before he can continue, and Mako gets up to unlock the big front door and let in the few early birds already waiting. They traipse in, most likely still-over-enthusiastic freshmen forcing themselves not to succumb to the overwhelming urge to give up before the year ends.

Scrubbing his face with one hand, Hermann swipes the cards into the open drawer. Just before he can close it, however, Tendo grabs the handle. He picks up the compliment card and raises an eyebrow before tucking the card into Hermann's shirt pocket and closing the drawer. It sticks out of the top of his shirt pocket and Hermann tries to put it back when Tendo laughs, holding the drawer shut. Hermann rolls his eyes, but before he can say anything one of the students sheepishly rings the bell in front of them.

Hermann doesn't think about it until a few hours later, when he reaches into his pocket in search of a pen and comes out with the note instead. The student asking him for help with her research paper giggles when she catches sight of what's written on it and he snaps at her when she tries to stutteringly backtrack.

With Tendo's constant needling as he asks every person who walks in the door who they think is the cutest of the three, Hermann's bad mood only gets worse throughout the day. The fact that he's acutely aware of the empty table between Behe and Coleman isn't helping at all.

Stealing a cart of recently returned books, Hermann makes some excuse to the others and sequesters himself in the back of the second floor, far away from the traffic of the front desk. There it is quiet, the only sound the tiny stream of air sneaking in the corner of a window. At three o'clock, the sun is sliding through the glass panes just right, leaving pools of warmth collecting around the tables in the center of the room. Outside there's a cool spring breeze blowing, and downstairs Tendo is probably harassing more involuntary beauty contest judges, but here is a whole other world away.

As he navigates the wobbly cart between the stacks and replaces empty space with novels about romance between long dead barons and governesses, footsteps echo up the staircase. Hermann sighs, suddenly having the urge to his his head on the nearest hard surface. He would, too, if he weren't so afraid of the shelf falling down and crushing him. Dying under stacks of musty romance novels is not the way he wants to go.

When he dares to poke his head out to see who it is, however, Hermann decides he would rather be crushed. There, standing alone at the top of the stairs, is the man from the science table. He's holding an index card and looking around the empty room with a confused expression on his face. Hermann is pleased to note his hair is just as stupid looking as usual, but also can't hear his own thoughts over the sound of how hard his heart is beating.

He tries to back into the safety of the stacks again but bumps into the cart, which makes an almighty squeak that is probably no louder than the quiet draft in the window. Before he can duck out of sight, the man sees him and starts walking over cautiously.

"Hi?" He asks. It's too loud in the silence and he clears his throat awkwardly before saying again, at a more normal level, "Hi. I'm looking for this book? Mako said you could help me." He gestures over his shoulder at the stairs and Hermann swears he can hear the other two librarians listening.

"Of course." Hermann straightens up and smooths down his shirt, leaning on the cart with one hand and holding out the other for the card in the man's hand. When he does, though, the man looks even more startled than he had been by the noise.

After a few moments of silence, Hermann asks, "What was the book you wanted?" at the same time the man blurts, "There wasn't really a book."

"What?" Hermann asks.

The man sighs and almost knocks his glasses off his face gesturing... something. "There wasn't really a book," he explains. "It's just, when I came in, the guy at the desk said something that made me think you got the note but that you didn't realize it was for you, so I wrote another note to explain and then came up here looking for you but didn't know what to say."

It takes a few seconds for Hermann to process all those words. When he does, he says, again, "What?"

Instead of trying to explain further, the man sticks out his hand and introduces himself. "My name's Newt and instead of dealing with my feelings like a normal person I wrote you an anonymous and unaddressed note."

Hermann is in the middle of shaking the man—Newt's hand when he realizes what he said. "Wait, you-?"

"Yeah," Newt cuts him off, "I know, not the greatest idea, but I'm actually really bad at talking to people, especially attractive people, so..."

They're just holding hands now, Hermann too confused to focus on anything besides the words coming out of Newt's mouth. "The note was for me?" He asks.

The look Newt gives him is so incredulous as to border on insulting as he says, "Of course it was for you, I mean, duh. Wait, did you really not think-?"

"No, I didn't- And you?"

"Yeah, no, me. Why do you think I'm here every day? I've read pretty much everything in the building by now, it was because of-"

"Me?"

Newt laughs now, and it's an almighty, room-filling thing, not because it's loud but because it's so full and complete. Hermann's never heard anything like it, and never wants to hear anything else, now that he comes to think of it.

"Yeah you." Newt lets go of his hand and awkwardly unfolds the card he's accidentally crushed in his other hand. "I just kinda didn't know your name? All I knew was you're a librarian and when you scare off the assholes hiding in the corner of the history section your scowl is super cute."

"My name is Hermann," he says in reply, choosing to ignore the later half of the sentence. He almost tries to shake Newt's hand again for whatever reason but decides better of it.

"Hi Hermann," Newt says. He isn't laughing anymore but Hermann can still see it lingering around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Absurdly, he misses it.

"What's that, then?" Hermann asks, pointing to the now mostly flattened index card in Newt's hand. When Newt hands him it, he recognizes immediately the handwriting from the first card.

Newt scratches the back of his head as he explains, "Well, when you weren't downstairs I just kinda assumed you weren't here, so I was gonna leave another note explaining, but then this girl, Mako? She saw me at the comments box and told me I might find you 'sulking' up here." Hermann looks up at him and Newt raises his hands in defense. "Her words, dude, not mine."

Hermann turns his attention back to the note, fingers running over the deep impressions of the letters. On it is an explanation similar to what Newt had just told him and his name and phone number signed at the bottom with instructions to "text me whenever, seriously, any time" at the very edge of the paper.

"So..." Hermann starts, "whenever?"

Newt nods with barely restrained enthusiasm—that is to say, looking like he's trying to contain himself and completely failing.

"Is now good?"

He nods again, this time without even the pretense of self-control. Hermann would have laughed if he hadn't known how it would be interpreted.

"Of course," he continues, "that would probably be a little redundant, seeing as we're standing in front of each other already." The dawning realization on Newt's face brings with it a pleased smile that Hermann greatly appreciates.

"You're right," Newt says as he leans back on his heels. "Maybe we could talk now instead? I know an empty table," he glances over his shoulder, "or twenty where we could sit."

"Logically it makes the most sense," Hermann says.

Newt scoffs lightly and repeats "logically" under his breath, but he's still smiling as he leads the way over to the nearest table, so Hermann counts it as a win.

Only once they're seated does Newt bring it back up, much to Hermann's chagrin.

"So, about how super cute you are..."

**Author's Note:**

> written while listening to radiohead and trying not to cry about having no future; you know, the usual. i haven't written any new fic in ages, though, so i'm trying to get back into the swing of things. hopefully this isn't as stilted as it felt writing it! see you soon
> 
> also, fun fact: my grandfather is a biochemist so i put him right next to his least favorite person in the world on that bookshelf
> 
> tumblr @[moonfullofstars](http://moonfullofstars.tumblr.com)


End file.
